It's Not Much, But It's Enough
by m1919
Summary: A selection of old one-shots I wrote what feels like a lifetime ago and new oneshots that I'll hopefully continue writing. There's a fair bit of mush, in addition to mush. Did I mention there was mush?
1. Believe Me

He drew a breath as the damp cotton ball moved across the gash on his forehead, the burning sting of the antiseptic contrasting sharply with the cold on his skin. John's eyes followed the track of her hand as it made its way across his vision, the other holding his head steady, cupped on his cheek, her fingers over his ear, the tips resting in his hair. He found her warmth a comforting distraction from the garish throbbing in his head that came with every beat of his heart.

His gaze drifted from the gash on Cameron's cheek to her eyes as she continued her work, stitching the edges of the wound together, causing him to shift under her hand, grimacing slightly before steadying. A ghost of a smile graced her lips as she finished a few moments later, pressing a dressing down over the stitches. He felt a sudden chill overtake him when Cameron's hand left his face, his eyes following as it moved to rest at her side. He hadn't noticed how cold it was in the room. Maybe it was just him.

"Do you feel different?" She asked, her voice tinged with concern, her dark eyes moving almost imperceptibly across his face, her head tilting every so slightly.

He smirked slightly at her words before his face twisted in pain. "Hmmphh... Head's still threatening to burst." He attempted to smile, but grimaced once more. "I'll be fine."

She looked down momentarily, her eyes shifting slightly before returning to John's face. She slowly approached him from her spot. John's concussion fogged mind wandered as his eyes remained on her. After what seemed like an eternity to him, she was sitting next to him. He could feel the warmth radiating from her, those dark eyes staring at him. He could feel the air shift as she moved closer to him, pulling him into an awkward hug before lowering her face to his forehead, faintly pressing her lips against the skin below the thick bandage. It lasted only a few seconds, but he could still feel the warmth of those soft lips against his skin.

He shifted in her grasp, sitting up to look at her, her eyes already locked with his. He tried to speak clearly but could only manage a whisper. "Why did you do that?"

"I felt it was something I should do." She looked away for a moment before returning to his gaze. The corners of her mouth upturned faintly before she leaned closer into him, but his hand came up to rest on her shoulder, stopping her.

"John... I"

"You know what I feel. I know you do. And if you don't feel at least a semblance of what I feel for you, in whatever way you can feel..." He let his hand fall from her shoulder. "You'll be lying to me."

She looked down briefly. He saw a flash of pain in her expression as she did so. "I lied to you before. But I'm not lying now." She looked down at his hands, and reached out with one of her own, slipping her fingers around his, pulling his hand to her cheek, leaning into his palm. "Believe me."

He ran a thumb over the gash in her cheek, feeling the exposed hyperalloy, very slightly warm to the touch. His hand moved to stroke her hair as she leant closer into him, pressing her lips against his lightly, before dragging them across his lower lip, tugging on it gently before pulling away. "I do believe you." He whispered as rested his forehead against hers, their noses almost touching.


	2. It Was Me

They quickly sprint through the forest, dashing between conifers as they make their way deeper into the endless expanse of trees. The late day sunlight filtering through the treetops illuminates their path. Spotting a downed tree trunk overgrown with moss, the pair dives over the fallen giant, barely making cover before the rounds impact the tree; bark flies and plumes of dust waft from the hits, floating almost serenely through the god-rays permeating the forest.

Derek peers over the edge of the trunk. Another round impacts the tree, he flinches as he ducks back down. "I don't see her, where the hell is she?" He turns to find John looking at him, frustration in his eyes, the rest of his face concealed beneath shatter-proof material.

"I don't know, it's like she's taunting us or something. Waiting for us to make a break for it before she finishes us off." John replies, his voice muffled. "She might still be pissed."

"Seriously? That was days ago." Derek looks over the edge again, another flurry of rounds impacts the trunk; red mist permeates the air. He returns prone once again.

"You know her, she's not afraid to hold a grudge." John says, his eyes revealing the smirk on his face. His mind wanders briefly, back to the day. He remembers with crystal clarity the sight of his mother sitting in the kitchen, sour faced; she's clad in one of her usual outfits, but something's off. The tank top is pink. Shaking his head briefly, he refocuses.

"Whatever, we gotta make a go for it before she overruns us. We move on my signal, got it?" He lifts his gloved hand, the other griping the paintball marker. Gesturing a movement order he pauses, waiting for the right moment. "Go!" Derek cries.

Rolling over, John bolts from the trunk, his boots kicking up patches of earthy green moss as he runs.

Derek tears off in the opposite direction. Looking over his shoulder, he fails to notice the obstacle in his path.

He's on the ground, the wind knocked out of him. He recognizes what he's just run into. Cameron. The "metal". She's giving him her blank stare. His eyes shift to the figure moving from behind her. He has no time to react. Trying in vain to shield himself from the plastic rain, he turns, writhing from the impacts. It feels like hours but it's only a few seconds; when it's over he looks like something from Jackson Pollock's workshop.

"What the hell was that for? One shot is all it takes!" He shouts, still reeling. Cameron tilts her head at him in curiosity.

Sarah removes her mask, the band snapping as she pulls it from her head. "My tank tops. They're pink. All of them."

He looks at her incredulously, watching as she retreats in the direction from which she came. "The fuck are you looking at, metal!" Rising to his feet, he follows Sarah's lead, making his way back to the clearing where they'd parked their cars. Cameron remains there, quickly turning her head, the long chocolate locks of hair whipping around her as she detects the soft crackling of twigs and rustling of leaves. It's John.  
"Cameron." He calls, his voice muffled by the mask he's now removing. "What just happened?" He inquires, amusement painted on his features.

"Sarah exacted revenge upon Derek."

"I see. The laundry incident?"

"Yes. Her anger was misdirected though."

"Why?"

"It wasn't Derek who fouled her laundry." She pauses. "It was me." She smirks, looking at John, big doe eyes dancing with amusement.

He grins, taking hand, pulling her close to him as they begin walking back to the cars.


	3. Overkill

He felt something was off. John couldn't place it, but the feeling remained as he sat at the kitchen table, watching Cameron pour pancake batter into the frying pan, the perfect consistency allowing it to flow easily from the bowl. His face twitched in confusion when the thick liquid didn't stop flowing. It continued pouring over the sides of the frying pan until it had completely covered the stove top.

"Don't you think that's a bit too much batter for one pancake?" He inquires with a smirk. Turning to him, head tilted ever so slightly, she offers a faint smile in response. Staring silently in confusion, he recoils in terror as the pale liquid atop the stove formed into silvery spear, quickly shooting through Cameron's chest, impaling her against the wall. She slowly goes limp, a trail of blood pouring from the corner of her mouth as her eyes glaze over.

Thrashing in the sheets, he looks up through bleary eyes, finding Cameron sitting at the edge of the bed, staring down at him, her head tilted in curiosity. He opens his mouth, coughing from the painful dryness in his throat. "I told you I hate that." He rubs his eyes as he sits up, then falls back into the pillows.

"Yes, you did. You do." She pauses, eyes widening slightly as the corners of her mouth rise almost imperceptibly. "But I will continue regardless."

"Well, if you're going to be that close while you're staring, at least climb in with me, then." He mumbles, rubbing his eyes again before pulling the blanket over his head. His stomach rumbles as he's about to close his eyes. "Actually, forget that right now." He throws the covers back, gets up and stretches as she continues to stare at him, head tilted, a glazed-over sheen in her eyes. She approaches him, her right hand slowly rising for his throat.

Her hand continues slowly as he backs further away, stopping when he collides with the door. He tries to fumble for the knob, but it's too late. Her soft fingers curl around his throat. Closing his eyes, he waits for the end. They slowly open when he feels her thumb brush across his windpipe before joining the rest of her fingers as they move along his jaw to cup his cheek.

"Fooled you again." She whispers, a slight smile on her lips as she pulls her hand away.

He exhales, trembling slightly. "Not funny, Cameron." He pauses, still backed against the door. "You've been watching Christopher Walken movies again."

She looks away briefly before returning her eyes to his gaze. "Have I?" He looks at her pointedly. "Dark humor, huh?"

"Not the right situation?" She asks quietly.

"No, but... it's the... thought that counts." He chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. Her eyes brighten at the sentiment, watching as he opens the door and ventures downstairs in the dark. He hears the floorboards creak under him as he enters the kitchen.

"I'll make you a sandwich." He jumps slightly at the voice. 'How does she always manage to be so quiet?'

"We'll make a sandwich. Sometimes..."

"It's nice to have help." The corners of her mouth upturn slightly. Pulling open the fridge door, he skims the contents.

"Where's the damn turkey, it was here the last time I looked."

Using Sarah's voice and intonation she responds. "Move the contents of the fridge around and the turkey will reveal itself to you."

He smirks over his shoulder. "Stop doing that, you're freaking me out." He turns back to the fridge.

"Sorry." Again in Sarah's voice. He smiles to himself.

Retrieving the turkey, hidden behind a plate piled high with pancakes, he turns to place the package on the table. She's gone. Looking away, he finds her staring out the backdoor window.

"I hear something out there." She deadpans.

"What is it?"

"I don't know." She pulls her modified full-auto Glock 17 from the back of her jeans, opening the door as she steps out into the darkness behind the house.

He turns to follow her out the door when he hears the sudden high-pitched squealing of an unidentified mammalian creature as it hurls itself out of the shadows, latching onto his head. He falls to the ground rolling as he tries to extricate himself from its grasp. Screaming in terror as the creature claws at his head, he beats its back with his fists. "Christ! Get it off me!." He continues beating at the creature as he flails on the ground.

"Cameron!" He beats the creature once more before he feels a great force tear it from his cranium, its claws exacting one last scrape on his scalp. He groans in pain as he watches her toss the still squealing creature off into the darkness before firing a burst of 9mm FMJ in its direction. The squealing fades to a quiet hissing before she empties the rest of the mag into the creature.

Rising to his feet, he watches as she crouches to inspect the decimated remains of what used to be a raccoon, splattered across the ground, tufts of fur and an occasional giblet all that remain of his most terrifying attacker. "Normally, I'd say that was overkill, but... I can make an exception."

He feels the warmth of blood on his face as he turns to walk back in, sitting down at the kitchen table. He grimaces as he feels Cameron's fingers comb through his hair, inspecting the wounds. "Not a word of this to my mom. Or Derek. Especially not Derek."

She smirks in response.


	4. Purpose

Purpose

Completed: 3/1/2011

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John felt himself falling before his mind could even register he had been hit. All he'd felt was a sharp tug in his side before a great force pushed him off his feet, depositing him with a solid thud in the snow covered ground. He tried to grab for his battle rifle, still tethered to him by its sling, but an overwhelming tiredness engulfed him; his arms felt as though they were made of lead. He could already feel the slippery, metallic warmth of blood soaking through his cold weather uniform as his head flopped limply to the side, his cheek barely registering the harsh bite of the snow around him as it grew crimson before his eyes.

He tried to call out, but no sound escaped his throat, his lungs felt suddenly empty. He lay there as his surroundings quickly grew distant, the world around him growing more and more muffled, the bright strobing of muzzleflashes and tracer fire growing more and more dark as his mind fogged over. The rapid crack of automatic gunfire and the sporadic thumps of grenade launchers ebbed away to be replaced with a ringing in his ears as he almost felt himself begin to float, overcome with the urge to close his eyes and succumb to the welcoming blackness that he could no longer resist.

{===========================================================}

There's a sharp pain and tightness in his chest when John comes to his senses. For a moment, it's the only thing he can focus on before he notices the soft warmth surrounding his hand and he gathers the strength to force his aching eyes open so he can find its source, though he already knows who it belongs to. It feels like an eternity to him as his eyes slowly adjust to the dim light bathing the tiny, damp room, and he can finally see Cameron, as he shifts with a groan, his hand still clasped tightly in her's. Her eyes brighten when they meet his own and her lips faintly upturn when he offers her a tired smile in greeting.

"Hi." He rasps. He wished he could say more but his painfully dry throat fails him. Before he can try a grab for the canteen laying beside the cot, Cameron's hand has already snatched it up and offered it to his parched lips.

"You suffered shrapnel wounds to your chest and lower abdomen. They were treated, but infection set in afterward."

He continues drinking in silence for a brief moment before she lowers and caps the canteen, returning it to its resting place.

"You almost died." She adds, her voice lowering. "Twice."

As dim as it is in the tiny room, John doesn't miss the downward gaze that follows her statement, and he suddenly misses that brief smile that had adorned her face when he awoke, and the softness of her hand on his. He hates to see her like this now, those eyes downcast and dulled.

"I'm sorry." He whispers. It's lame, and John knows it, but it's the best thing that comes to his mind at the moment.

"I'm responsible for your being injured. I wasn't there when…"

"Cameron." He cuts her off.

"I almost lost you." She declares, her voice heightened.

"Cameron, stop." He rasps, before forcing his aching body to sit up, propping his back up against the wall. Cameron complies, but when she doesn't return his gaze, he raises a hand to her chin and gently prises her to look at him. The tips of his fingers trace her jawline as he cups her cheek, and his thumb idly caresses the fading gouge he finds there. For a moment, they're caught in each others' gaze, and the hellish world around them almost ceases to exist.

"You didn't lose me…" He pauses briefly, his hand lowering to grasp hers. "And what happened wasn't your fault. You make mistakes; you aren't perfect."

"John, if I had…"

"Don't blame yourself for the things that happen to me when you're not near. I don't need a protector."

Her hand slips from his and she's staring at him now; there's the deepest sadness he's ever seen in her dark eyes, boring into his own with an intensity that makes him feel as though he just hurt her in the worst way possible.

"I just need you." He whispers. Cameron's gaze softens.

"I cannot deny what drives my existence." She pauses, looking away briefly. "There is nothing for me here without you. You are that which gives me purpose."

"I know." He pauses briefly. "But at some point in time… you'll have to let me go."

She leaves her spot on the floor and gently lowers herself to join John on the cot, careful not to aggravate his injuries further. His eyes follow her every move, smooth, deliberate and graceful as she lays down next to him. They share a brief moment of silence before she leans closer into him, a leg in between his, a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I don't want to." She whispers, her voice so low that John barely catches it. The heat of her breath tickles his lips before she closes the last bit of distance between them. He revels in the feeling of her soft lips gliding against his, of her nose brushing against his cheek and tickling his, of those warm breaths as his hands come up to caress her face and run through her hair. He's breathless when they separate and the only sound in the room is that of his ragged breathing as they lay there in the shadows, their foreheads touching, their arms around each other in a tender embrace.


End file.
